maybe if I tell myself enough, maybe if I do
by hel lokidottir
Summary: And, really. He's one fucked up, stupid metalhead to have given up on this—on her. "I'm sorry for everything, sweetheart." pepper/tony (warnings: major Civil War spoilers, long boring confusing inner monologue, language)


(title is from Ingrid Michaelson's "Over You (feat. A Great Big World). not the most pepperony song but it is inspiration though)

(most grammatical errors and repetitions are on purpose due to Stark's slightly off inner monologue/thoughts)

 **i tried. i really did. / dies**

—

Dried leaves break at the sudden force of his feet as he slowly walks, his left leg taking a much longer time to settle on the ground and lift off it than his right one. He struggles with his lameness, quick gasps of air through gritted teeth and trembling fingers digging into black cotton shirt and tanned skin. The contusions forming along his cheek and around his eye sting at strong breeze heading his way, blue and black blended colors on tawny flesh canvas.

It has been a week since that fucking war—he calls it war, because a fight does not even do half the damage they did, and because, at some ridiculous part of his mind, he likes calling it war, _Civil War_ , knowing that Cap would not approve of—

Okay, Tony, stop thinking. Just. Stop.

Where was he again?

Oh, he remembers now, yes.

One week has passed since then, and he should be happy that it had gone rather smoothly than what he had initially thought it would go—raucous, annoying, and migraine-triggering as government officers bark at his tail and the goddamn media spewing either over-exaggerated truths or over-exaggerated parts of truths or both.

The Avengers' Compound is silent (save for the sound of the early morning recruit training across the track), orderly, everything he had wanted it to be a week prior.

He's not happy.

At

all.

He misses loud playful banter from across the table at dinnertime whenever he had slept over; every snort and guffaw and not-at-all-cute laughter and awkward drunken talk in the every so often MISSION COMPLETE PAAARTEEY (his fault for making it tradition, obviously); the messy remains of a training done horribly right (and horribly terrible, courtesy of Natasha, that devilwoman) at gym, the _Avengers'_ gym—

He will ... uhh.

He'll rename that into a much cooler name once he gets back.

—the childish raucousness; the constant annoyances; the head-splitting early morning migraines as government officials eat at him and media talking jackshit about them.

He misses it.

Everything.

...every _one._

Clint, even if they were never really at close terms. (He knows that's a lie—they've been prank buddies ever since.)

Wanda, even if she had disobeyed Accord protocols. (He knows that's a lie—she was never meant to be restrained.)

Sam, even if he was the reason for Rhodes for almost dying. (He knows that's a lie—he would never have dodged that light beam if he had known it would hit Rhodes.)

Steve, even if he had never told him about his parents' death and choosing the Winter Soldier over him. (He knows that ... that's not a lie, and yet, he understands him a bit more now. And, it hurts because he realizes that Steve had never chosen the Winter Soldier over him—he was never good at choosing sides. Also, he was never really good at writing Tony's name. He's so going to get back on him for not writing Stark properly.)

And, Pepper—

He stops walking, stomach dropping at the thought of her.

 _I miss her._

Heartbeat,

a shaky breath.

Heartbeat,

an audible gulp.

...

He continues.

Green lush grass trimmed to perfection covers the ground around him, light catching dews in short flashes. The cobblestone path is not as clean as it usually was, must be due to the keeper not being there today, but it still quite sightly with its smooth pearl and grey and obsidian stones set on cement. Fallen leaves scatter along the path, telling silent stories of winter and autumn, singing secret lullabies of both tribute to the life lived and sorrow of the life left.

He laughs to himself. He'd never been the best with wordplay—almost flunked high school because of Literature once—but he could be a poet for that rather poetic description.

To keep it simple though, it is beautiful.

It's just ... _beautiful_.

Yep, much better to be simple.

He looks up, and sees his stop looming ahead, long shadows casted on the ground.

A tall figure, too giant to be human and too frozen to be living, stares at him with dull eyes and knowing purse of lips. Two stones marked deep on ground with words engraved carefully just in front of the statue.

Two stones.

Two _names._

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe, because, well, this is the first time in years since he'd ever visited his parents' graves, and, ah, fuck it! He doesn't know if he should go any further or turn around and head back to the Compound.

But, that was why he is out here, isn't it? Because the building doesn't seem like home anymore, and all he wanted was a semblance of that familial warmth that had been lost, and all he could ever think about is that the SHIELD Memorial is the only place left for him to _feel._

A sigh escapes his mouth, blinking away the building wetness in his eyes.

No turning back.

One step, two step, three step, four step, five step ... until he comes face to face with the gravestones, fifty-four steps later.

His father is first and left—always left, because that is the side people would normally look at first, or so his father would say—tiny words in a barely readable font.

 _Howard Stark._

His mother is second and right—always right, because, well, she is—few sentences in spidery calligraphy.

 _Maria Stark._

He is closer to his mother's, sadness in his smile and fondness in his eyes. He loves her so much. His legs buckle under him, and he fell, his newly bought jeans dirtied as they carve small depressions into the ground and grass. A hiss of pain as sparks of heat and fire tore through his left knee, and he had to clamp his mouth to avoid shouting profanities in front of his mother's grave when he carefully shifted into a better sitting position.

She wouldn't like that, no.

He directs his gaze at his father's stone, the sadness inside him churning more and more until the first wave of regret and heartbreak broke out, trickling down his cheek.

"I never ..." he swallows thickly, licks his suddenly dry lips, "That day, I never told you how much I love you, and I'm ... regretting it so much because you—ah, god ... because you died thinking that I hate you. I don't."

He wipes his cheeks with the back of his hand.

"You and Mom both, I miss you so much, and I just wish, _please_ , if you're out there, know that I love you so so much, Dad."

Hiccuping, he grins through tear-streaked skin and runny nose.

"I love Mom more than you though," he laughs, shifting his gaze back to the other stone, slowly reading through the passages written, smiling through all of the words, and

Flowers.

He blinks.

Why are there flowers here?

He gently touches the petals, and takes note of the pretty glow and soft texture and the clear glass it's in. Fresh. Recent.

Someone has been here.

He brings the vase close and breathes in subtle aroma of forget-me-nots and roses. And then, there it is, just underlying all the fragrance, a familiar drawing scent of spices and black orchids and rich coffee.

perfume, drink, pepper; _hers._

Oh.

"So you heard?" He asks, pushing the vase back to where it originally was. He sniffs.

"Yeah," a shuffle in the background then light footsteps. He doesn't bother looking at her when she sits down beside him, legs brought to her chest, to know about the worry in her face. He doesn't have to. She held out a handkerchief, and he gratefully accepts it.

...

"Why are you here, Pepper?" He asks, because, yeah, why the hell is she here? Not that he's against her being there—he wouldn't admit that completely though, since he's been avoiding her for a while now, and admitting that he misses her loudly kinda defeats the purpose. He doesn't get why, but it just does.

She hums, "Well, ever since you fired me—"

He shrinks at the reminder.

"—I've been looking for a job 'more suited for someone such as I', as you have suggested—"

He shrinks more.

(He instantly regrets teaching her how to manipulate people with guilt.)

"—and, well, I'm actually still looking," she shrugs, "But, there was this message from a friend saying that maybe I would be interested in working part-time as a keeper of the SHIELD Memorial. So I agreed."

He squashes down the relieved sigh before it escapes him at hearing her employment status, because he knows that there's no better work for her out there, only by his side.

He won't admit that to her, though.

But, after a moment, he cocks his head to the side. Part-time ... she never did part-time.

"Why agree?" He looks at her then, and he double takes at the amount of dirt stains on her shirt and small twigs in her hair. One month ago, he would have laughed and commented teasingly on her new fashion sense, but now he just stares at her like one would an angel _because that's what she is._

Her eyes widen, before she looks at his mother's stone. "Because I know you'd be here, sooner or later."

His heart stops, and, oh fuck. "I miss you."

Ugh. So much for not admitting anything to her.

"I miss you too, Tony."

Okay, so maybe admitting that he misses her is what he needed, because now he feels the warmth that he so desperately craves and needs.

Erm.

"So, forget-me-nots and roses, huh?" He asks her, because he remembers that time when she was in charge of decorations at one of his parties and had eagerly explained to him what the flowers she picked symbolized while he pretended to be interested. "What do those mean?"

A bright spark shines in her eyes. He scowls at himself; why the fuck had he not been more appreciative to her passion for flower symbolisms?

"Forget-me-nots symbolizes love and memories, while the roses— _tea_ roses, actually—mean 'I will remember always'," she smiles at the small tribute, and he can't help but feel fluttering in his stomach. "Whenever you talked about your parents, I remember you talking about many good memories you had with your Mom, and how you favor the memory of you learning to play your Mom's favorite The Fantasticks song—hence, the flowers."

"It's uhh ..." _perfect,_ "fitting."

She smiles more brightly at the compliment (? is that even called a compliment?), before looking at the other stone, "I don't know what to give your father, though. Its kinda hard to think of a proper flower when his son rarely talks about him."

"Ha! Don't bother," he says with a laugh, "doesn't deserve any."

Pepper rolls her eyes, "But what I've heard, a certain son actually loves him."

He huffs. "Fine, fine. He deserves one, but I don't think his 'manliness' would want that."

She rolls her eyes at him again. He sticks out his tongue. Pepper laughs at his childish antics.

"How are you guys holding up? I mean after what happened last week, I know it's a little rough, but ... still." She purses her lips. Cute. "How's Natasha? She hasn't been answering any of my calls or replied to any of my texts."

He furrows his eyebrows, shrugs, "I'm not sure, but she's probably in Barton's place."

"Ooh," she nods, "How about Rhodes? Is he alright?"

That made him freeze, not really comfortable with answering her that question yet. Sensing this, she opts for a lighter subject. "Vision?"

He runs a hand through his face. "He's well ... complicated. Either locking himself in his room, staring blankly at his chessboard, cooking something, or wanders about in the Compound. He's more of a zombie now than an 'omnipotent' synthezoid."

"... it's Wanda, isn't it?"

"I swear, she's got him wrapped around her finger. He's like a lovesick teenager!"

"Oh, hush. I think it's adorable ... in a tragic kind of way. At least, he's beginning to understand what it is to be human, though."

Wistful.

The double meaning of her words are not lost to him. "Yeah."

Equally wistful.

Quietness shrouds them, as they stare blankly ahead, both keen on avoiding a certain topic.

Or that's what he wants to believe.

In reality though, he knows that she's waiting for him to explain himself to her, and it's just a matter of time before she'd demand him to do so.

He still wants to believe she wouldn't though.

If he believes

hard

enough

maybe—

"Why'd you break up with me?"

And there it is, the words he wanted to not hear. Ever.

He tenses, his tongue stumbling strings of jumbled words out of his mouth. His mind and thoughts caught in a storm.

No.

I don't want to tell you.

Not yet.

Please.

But, of course, she can't hear his pleas, that's why she continued to fish out the reason with glaring eyes and a scolding voice, "Tony. I have the right to know why. So, just, please."

He shuts up. She looks at him disbelievingly.

"Why?"

I

"Why won't you answer?"

I cant

"Please!"

Please

"I have to know ..."

I just cant

"Tony."

I'm sorry

"Fine." She stands up abruptly, grass twisting at the quick movement of her feet.

He looks up at her, and

No

 _Oh no._

"When you said that our relationship was a mistake and that you regretted convincing me to stay with you, I had hoped that you only had half your brain at that time," she's crying. No. Nononono _nonono._ "But then I found out that you've _fired me officially_. What hurts the most was you never ... you never had the guts to fucking tell me why, Tony!"

He stands up cautiously, ignoring the spike of pain as he does, and slowly moves towards her trembling, furious, upset form.

"Days, weeks then a month! Nothing." A pause, and he takes that opportunity to wipe her cheeks with the handkerchief she gave him minutes earlier. None a struggle, a sign he takes is good. "S ... So I did what you suggested me to do."

He freezes.

 _"There are lots of nice guys out there!"_

 _"Why won't you treat yourself tonight?"_

 _"Get drunk, wasted!"_

His injured hand trembles by his side. Pepper does not notice as she continues, voice softer than when she had started, "Maybe if I ... maybe if I told myself enough, maybe if I did, I might just get over you and fall in love with another person."

She laughs, "But, I guess all the words I said aren't enough, because I'm still not over this and I'm still in love with you." Her face pulls apart from the silk cloth he pats on her tearstreaks. "I'm in love with you and it hurts and please I—"

He hugs her without a thought, arms finding there places around her sides, fingers stroking her hair as he says his apologies over and over again.

He never meant to break her like this.

Until, of course, he sees her raised eyebrow, her mouth in an expectant lie. "Explain then."

(He should never had taught her how to manipulate with guilt. He is almost sure Natasha is secretly teaching Pepper 'Advanced Manipulation'.)

"Dammit, Pep."

"Can you blame me, though?"

... "N-No."

"If it makes you better, I really did mean everything I said."

"I know."

He sighs. "I was afraid; after the Mandarin, the Chitauri, and Ultron, I became afraid. I was afraid of hurting innocent people, accidentally killing innocent lives ... and, most especially, losing you. So I thought, it's better for me to cut our relationship. Just too much risk for your That's why I broke up with you, fired you, told you all those things.

"The thought of some guy touching you that way, talking to you in this manner, eyeing you like some meat—I don't like it. At all. And, yes, I know I am an idiot, but not all men are like that (or so I hope). They could treat you right, give you the life you were meant to have.

"Because I would have rather lost you to another man, than to lose you forever. And I know I can't be honest with you, because I know you wouldn't understand. Not then, anyway."

He watches her mouth part as she tries to absorb his words, and he marvels (for the nth time) at how beautiful she is.

She gives off a staccato sigh, "You're a stupid metalhead, you know that?" One step, closer. "Who said that this isn't the life I want?" Two step, closer. "I know that at one time, I would've given you up knowing you're in constant danger as an Avenger, but, I realize now."

Third step, toe-to-toe. "We're all going to die at some point, and I'll be damned if I don't spend the rest of my unstable life with you, Anthony Edwin Stark."

Okay, fine.

 _Fine._

"Ugh, why can't I ever say 'no' to you?"

"Because you love me."

Well, she's not wrong there.

She kisses him.

He kisses back.

And, really.

He's one fucked up, stupid metalhead to have given up on this—on _her._

"I'm sorry for everything, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Tony."

—

 **fuck. my hand slipped.**

 **sooooo. i was confused when Marvel did that. pepperony is the most perfect canon pairing, why break them apart without even a reason why? but then i thought, maybe Marvel has something huge for these two (or you know, a scene didn't make it to the cut, haven't checked but meh). so here is this monster of a one-shot...never really made one of this length and I'm suddenly scared of what two cups of coffee, three glasses of soda, sleep deprivation and slow internet can do to me 0_0. shit a more confusing fanficc more likely hahahahaha**

 **also, i cannot pass up that chance for that Scarlet Vision I'm so sorry can you blame me? hahah**

 **on other facts, The Fantasticks musical song "Try To Remember" is the favorite song Tony would tell his mother to play for him, it's the same song at that emulation thing at the alma mater scene in civil war**

 **please give feedback; comments and pointers and constructive criticism is welcome**


End file.
